


Deliver me from reasons why

by rosa_himmelblau



Series: The Roadhouse Blues [24]
Category: Wiseguy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:28:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26084947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosa_himmelblau/pseuds/rosa_himmelblau
Summary: There's only so much denial Vinnie can take.
Series: The Roadhouse Blues [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1069713





	Deliver me from reasons why

They had screamed at each other for hours, pausing only to simmer in their individual silent angers. They'd argued as they loaded the car in the falling snow. Sonny had thrown some tapes at Vinnie, which Vinnie had had the presence of mind to notice were Sonny's tapes and the childish fury to stomp on before going over and grabbing the box of tapes out of Sonny's hands and throwing it in the car.

And Sonny had pushed him, nearly knocking him down because the street was slippery with snow, and he'd laughed about it, but Vinnie had not hit him. He'd wanted to, but he hadn't. They were not going to have a fistfight in the street in the snow.

Then they'd argued over who was going to drive and Vinnie had knocked Sonny down and gotten in the car and locked all the doors. He'd only unlocked them when it occurred to him that Sonny would probably break a window with a rock if he didn't. _I **could** just leave, kept going through his head, I **could** just leave,_ and he could have, but he hadn't. Sonny got in the car and they drove to Montana, sixteen hours because of the snow, Vinnie refusing to stop for food because he was pissed, refusing silently because Sonny never mentioned stopping at all. When he stopped at the rest stops, he made Sonny get out of the car with him. When he bought cigarettes, Sonny called him a moron, and when he bought coffee, Sonny took the cup away from him, drank it, and threw the cup at him. That was when he'd hit Sonny, but Sonny hadn't hit him back because a sheriff's car had pulled in just then, and Vinnie didn't say what he wanted to say: _Nyah, nyah, nyah!_ because some small part of his brain remembered that he was an adult. But they were both losing their minds, no question about it.

"Why are we doing this?" had been the one halfway sane, half-hearted attempt at a truce. Vinnie had said it, and Sonny had ignored it. _But why **are** we doing this?_

Fighting over the radio station when there was nothing playing but static, fighting over the last Snickers bar in the machine in the last rest stop they hit before they got to the only hotel in Shelby, Montana, where Vinnie stopped because he was tired and he wanted something to eat. Fighting over who got the bed next to the window with a view of the snow-covered parking lot, fighting over who was going to take a shower first. _We're regressing. We're losing our minds._

And now Vinnie was lying awake, listening to Sonny not sleeping. Vinnie could tell by his breathing, he was lying in the dark thinking about waiting until Vinnie was sound asleep, then coming over and suffocating him. Vinnie knew that because he was thinking the same thing about Sonny. "Sonny."

Sonny didn't answer him. Sometimes Sonny would ignore him for hours just because he knew it pushed Vinnie's buttons.

"Sonny."

Still no answer. Vinnie reconsidered what he was planning on saying, considered not saying anything, just going over and punching him in the face. _You've gotta stop this. Somebody's gotta stop this and it's going to have to be you because you're the one who **can**. What's the worst that can happen? You know he's not gonna dust you, the worst that can happen is, he leaves. And maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing._

"Sonny, you want a blow job?"

" **What**?" And then, before Vinnie could say anything, "We're doing this again? Just go to sleep, will ya?"

Vinnie got up, went over to Sonny's bed, pulled back the covers, and got in.

"Get out of my bed." Sonny never let him even sit on his bed—it reminded Vinnie of the nuttiness of the nuns in high school, saying that when you danced with a girl, you had to leave room between you for the Holy Ghost, and if the nun couldn't see daylight, obviously there was no room for the Holy Ghost. Vinnie resisted an urge to tell Sonny that the Holy Ghost wasn't anywhere around. Sonny was a superstitious Catholic, he believed that God really was like a father, including the part where sometimes He didn't notice what you were doing, and if you didn't draw His attention to the guy you were making out with, He'd never know the difference. (This only applied to sex; apparently Sonny's version of God understood completely about the business he'd been in, and everything it entailed. Though since it was only recently that the Church had publicly condemned the Italian Mafia, maybe Sonny had a point there.) Vinnie willed himself not to say anything, and while he was doing that, Sonny pushed him out of the bed.

"Goddammit!"

"I told you to get out of my bed." Sonny sounded very calm, since he was absolutely in the right because he'd warned Vinnie.

"You know, this is insane. Your bed is not sacred ground and you are for damn sure not the Virgin Mary!"

Even in the dark Vinnie could see that Sonny had tuned out, that nothing Vinnie was saying could get through to him. Vinnie got up off the floor, just standing there a minute, telling himself he wasn't going to kill Sonny, at least not right here, not right now. "Fine. Get over here." And Vinnie went back to his own bed.

"We've been through this before." Sonny's voice was a little muffled by his pillow.

"Yeah, I remember. And it ended up with your dick in my mouth, so why don't you just get over here?"

"No, it **ended** with you throwing a fit and walking out. Now shut up and go to sleep."

"I'm serious. Come over here and I'll give you a blow job." _Yeah, who could possibly resist **that** offer?_

"You are out of your mind."

"We both are, but that's not the point."

"Oh, believe me, that's the point. Eight hours ago you tried to push me out of a moving car, so if you seriously think I'd let you anywhere near—forget it. Go to sleep."

That was actually a very reasonable point. If the situation were reversed, Vinnie wouldn't even consider letting Sonny suck him off, even if Sonny was ever likely to suggest it. "I'm not mad at you. This isn't some kind of revenge or practical joke or anything. I just—if we don't stop this, we're gonna kill each other. I thought it would help if you were more relaxed."

"And what am I going to be doing while you're 'relaxing' me?" Which was another very good question, since again, if the situation were miraculously reversed, Sonny would damn well be expecting reciprocation. And he didn't understand why Vinnie didn't expect it unless Vinnie was a fag which Vinnie wasn't because neither of them were—

Vinnie was getting a headache. He wasn't going to tell Sonny that if he relaxed, it would help Vinnie to relax because sometimes it seemed that he absorbed Sonny's stress like a sponge. "You're not going to be doing anything, I'm doing you a favor, no strings attached. All you've got to do is enjoy it." _And if you don't come over here, I'm going to get up and come over there and punch you in the mouth._ Sonny thought about that, apparently figured that a blow job was a blow job, and if Vinnie was crazy, well, he might as well benefit from it, and he came over to Vinnie's bed. "What do you want me to do?" He was already naked; he usually slept that way unless they were forced to share a bed.

Vinnie sat up. "Just stand there." _And shut up._ And he slid to his knees on the floor.

It had been close to a year ago, the last time he'd done this, and this time, if he was setting some kind of precedent in Sonny's mind, he might just decide to live with it, because blow-jobs were so uncomplicated. Sonny's dick went in his mouth, his hands went on Sonny's thighs, or his ass, and Sonny played with his hair, and said his name. He wasn't exactly thrilled with the act itself, and he could definitely live without Sonny ever coming in his mouth again, but the way Sonny said his name was like he'd just discovered something wondrous, and the way he said _end of the world._ Vinnie didn’t know why he said it, but Sonny always said it. And he liked the way Sonny's knees went weak, and he liked the way Sonny pretty much just dropped into bed and into sleep, as though he'd been felled with a rock to the back of his head. But mostly he liked that in those short moments, he was sure of who he was, of what he was doing, of what his goal was, and he was sure when he'd attained it.

And sex was the best reason Vinnie could come up with for why they were simultaneously losing their minds.

There were contributing factors: the traveling they pretended wasn't really running and hiding; the amount of time they spent with each other—and only each other; the depression Vinnie couldn't shake and Sonny couldn't understand—all of that amped up the craziness. Sonny having several important screws loose didn't help, either. But there was one solid fact Vinnie couldn't get around: when they were doing it, they didn't fight as much.

Sonny kept bringing home girls, but he wasn't enjoying himself. He'd stopped playing the game, and with the last two he'd been downright rude. The girls had been edgy, and Vinnie had had a hard time paying attention, he wanted so badly to just get up and leave. If Sonny's attitude didn't improve, he'd have to start picking up pros, since they wouldn't care about the game, and the green would be enough for them to ignore his mood.

The problem was, Sonny wasn’t interested in the girls. They’d been for Vinnie's benefit anyway. Sonny was interested in Vinnie, and Vinnie got the feeling he was tired of watching Vinnie make it with some stewardess who meant nothing to either of them.

Vinnie didn’t care one way or the other, except for the fall-out, except for how it threw their orbit all out of whack.

He was trying to remember what it was Amber had said about creating a space of normalcy in an abnormal situation. He hadn't been interested at the time; he'd wanted nothing more than a pizza and maybe a nap, which maybe was its own way of looking for normalcy. Amber wanted to talk concepts; Vinnie was focused on getting the real thing. Of course, that didn't help her any. No wonder she'd been pissed at him all the time.

Was there anything normal about any of this thing with Sonny? He'd never been able to explain to Amber that during the time after Rudy was shot, while nothing was normal, there was nothing really abnormal about it, either. It was a perfect example of SNAFU—Situation Normal, All Fucked Up. He knew how to walk that tightrope of being a cop while playing a hood; he even knew how to do it while it was his own family crisis he was dealing with, what with investigating Pete's death. What he hadn't known how to do was bring someone else along on the ride. That was where the relationship had gone to hell; he couldn't explain it to Amber, and she just kept getting pissed that he was enjoying himself, which—

Yeah, he was. Because he had to, because how could you do this job if you couldn’t enjoy at least some aspects of it? There was an adrenaline rush to be had, so when it came, you rode that wave.

Normal was important—

No, not normal. Consistent, that was what mattered. Come up with a pattern of behavior and stick to it, and no matter how crazy your life was, it would feel sane. Vinnie didn’t know if sucking Sonny off was crazy or sane, but from now on he’d be consistent about it, anyway.

Sonny was pulling his hair, which meant he was going to come soon. Vinnie focused his attention a little more on what he was doing, and moved one of his hands to Sonny's balls, which he'd never done before. Which was strange, really, since it could hardly be considered more intimate than what he **was** doing, only it seemed more intimate; everything they did was like some kind of weird sexual negotiation, like, like—

Like the rules girls in high school had, the ones that went _you can put your hand **here** but you can't put it **there** , you can have your hand on the side of my breast, or underneath, but not on top, _and they always made Vinnie want to ask what the hell the difference was! Not in the moment, of course; in the moment he was intent on putting his hand not just on the girl's breast, but on a part of it he had never touched before, because this was some kind of contest, even if the rules made no sense. _I want to touch you there because I've never touched you there, so let me touch you there. And then I can plant my flag because I win!_ Things should have been easier with Sonny, they should have been less complicated, shouldn't they? At least they should both have been playing by the same rules.

Maybe they were. Sonny certainly wasn't trying to remove Vinnie's hand from his balls. He was still saying Vinnie's name, but his tone had gotten just a little desperate; he was right there on the edge.

He wanted to push Sonny back onto his bed and climb all over him, but the bed wasn't close enough, it would be awkward and it would kill the mood, such as it was. Still, he squeezed Sonny's balls a little harder, scraped his dick lightly with his bottom teeth. Sonny gasped, and came in Vinnie's mouth.

Sonny dropped a kiss on the top of Vinnie's head and got back into his own bed. Vinnie got back into bed and when he was sure Sonny was asleep, Vinnie took care of his own problem, hoping he'd fall asleep just as easily.

"Vinnie." Sonny's voice, quiet so as not to wake Vinnie if he happened to be asleep. Sonny hadn't been asleep, he'd been lying in the dark listening to Vinnie beat off. Vinnie wasn't sure he wanted to talk, so he didn't say anything. "Hey. Vinnie."

Vinnie took a deep breath, held it two beats, let it out. He never could just ignore Sonny. "Yeah, what?"

The silence almost seemed to be an answer. Vinnie took another couple of deep breaths before Sonny answered. "You OK?" He sounded like he wasn't sure what he wanted to say.

Vinnie started to answer, stopped, really thought about it. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

Sonny yawned. "You'd tell me if you weren't?"

Vinnie resisted the urge to say that he'd been hiding an incurable disease from him, that any minute he'd go blind like Bette Davis. But it wasn't a joke, it was . . . it was Sonny. "Yeah, I'd tell you if I wasn't."

"Good." Another yawn. "You know this place has a pool?"

"Sonny. It's about twelve degrees outside."

Sonny laughed. "It's an indoor pool. Idiot."

"Oh." That made more sense. “Yeah, good.” Vinnie turned over and finally went to sleep.


End file.
